


Warm You Up

by anotherjadedwriter



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gamz is all flushed for his pale bro, M/M, rails with pails
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-21
Updated: 2014-03-21
Packaged: 2018-01-16 11:24:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1345687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anotherjadedwriter/pseuds/anotherjadedwriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Due to the recent cold snap, you're stuck inside while Karkat takes over and does stuff for you. But he gets cold too, so you think you'll warm him up, in the best way you can.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Warm You Up

It’s been unseasonably cold recently, to where Karkat has forbidden you from going outside for long periods of time, because you’d probably freeze to death (or at least get chilled real bad), and since he’s taken it upon himself to keep a watch on you, you’ve taken it upon yourself to greet him like a hyper puppy when he comes in from the cold.

He complains every time, but you know he likes being greeted, because he never tells you not to, and it isn’t like your palebro is shy about telling you not to do things.

So when he comes in all bundled up in a sweater and scarves and gloves like a little stuffed troll doll, you waste no time in wrapping him up in a hug and purring enthusiastically, his head under your chin. He mutters something you can’t hear and squirms from your hold to peel his layers off, looking at you to bark an order you follow happily.

"Go sit down, you rotting-panned clown wannabe asshole."

You settle in the pile by the space heater Karkat had brought and adjust some of the pillows so he can join you. It only takes him a moment or so-he never hangs anything up, he just drops it where he stands-and he’s flopping on the pile beside you with a thump. He only grumbles a little when you slip your arms around him before returning the favor.

"I got some groceries. You ate something while I was out, right?" He mumbles, into your shoulder.

You didn’t, and you only realize that now. “Uhh.”

He yanks himself free of you, stomps to the kitchenblock, and leaves you laying in the pile alone, pouting like a kicked puppy. You stay where you are and continue pouting, occasionally whining because he’s  _so mean,_ you mean, everyone forgets to eat occasionally, and besides you were asleep most of the time he was out anyway. It isn’t like you’re gonna starve, you just don’t remember the schedule he made for you to eat on.

You’re still pouting when he comes back in with a plate of grubloaf for you, all heated up and drizzled with grubsauce. He sighs when he sees your face and paps you a little with the oven mitt.

"Stop pouting and eat this, Gamzee." He says, looking unamused.

At his prompting, you brighten up and dig in, commenting that it tastes good, to which he says that it tastes like grubloaf always tastes because it’s just from the package, and flops into the pile again, facing away from you this time. You keep munching on your food, watching him out of the corner of your eye, until you stand carefully to brush the crumbs off yourself.

When you settle in next to him, you press your face to his neck, for once glad that the cold made all your paint too hard to put on. He’s asleep, you note, and shivering a little. You snake your arms around his waist and he starts up this dull little purr, but you’re just watching his face.

He looks so… Serene. He’s just relaxed, and even if you’ve seen him like this a hundred times before, it’s always kind of breathtaking how his forehead smooths out and his lips go just that little bit slack, so you can see the white teeth behind them and the black tongue, too. It makes you smile, your moirail deserves to look happy like this more, it isn’t his fault the planet wasn’t made well enough for someone as fire-hot as he is.

He’s still shivering a little. You’d only listened to his orders to “S _tay inside so you don’t keel the fuck over somewhere”_  because you didn’t want him worrying more than normal, but you’re used to cold. Your blood is always cold, the wind off the sea is usually chilled, sometimes you’ll wake up after crawling out of your coon in the abulationsblock and it feels like someone took your bones and replaced them with ice, you’re used to cold.

Karkat, though, isn’t. Karkat has cherry-red, fire-hot blood. Karkat lives in a city where there are so many buildings on all sides the breeze can hardly strangle through the phone lines, he lives somewhere where the streets and sidewalks radiate the sun’s heat until the sun comes back up again. Karkat, your smart, kind, molten-lava-blooded moirail, is not used to the cold, and he can’t handle it as well as you.

You think you should warm him up, and what better way than with kisses? None, there is no better way, you’re convinced that that is the best way.

As such, you kiss his cheek, then his ear, smiling at how his hair tickles your lips and nose. You kiss his neck, next, under his jaw, just anywhere you can reach, even pulling his shirt to the side to reach more skin, and he shifts a bit closer against you, his purr louder and punctuated by little chirps.

You smile against his neck for a moment, because he’s not shivering anymore, and then push his shirt up to run your hands over his chest and stomach, just enjoying how his skin feels against your palms. At this point, he starts to wake up, albeit slowly.

He shifts and mumbles something unintelligible and you kiss his ear.

"Just all up and get your relax on, palebrother. Motherfucker’s got you." You coo, nuzzling into his hair adoringly.

He reaches up to find your face with his hand and just pats your cheek a bit. “What about you? Aren’t you uh, don’t you want to?”

You kiss his palm, smiling. “Ain’t gotta do nothin but just like it, brother. I just wanna up and get my please on for you… Lemme warm you up.” You murmur, flicking your tongue over his skin.

He flushes hotly and nods, lets you move his hand back in front of himself. You go back to kissing at his neck, his ear and shoulder, too, and he whines when you draw your tongue from the junction of his shoulder and heck up to his ear, then nip at the tip of that ear. You pinch one of his grubscars gently and he mewls, biting his bottom lip. Your right hand rails down his front, then under his jeans and boxers, and he gasps, so you stop.

"Is this not okay? Fuck, I’m, I’m sorry bro, I shoulda—"

"Gamzee." He hisses, elbowing you lightly. "Your hands are cold, is all. If you stop now I’m gonna be pissed."

You smile and kiss his cheek sloppily, pushing your hand the rest of the way down to cup his sheathe. You can feel his bulge stirring under your hand, and it pushes out when you roll your palm. He makes this sweet little needy trill and wraps his arm back, so his hand is on your ass, and pulls your hips up against his pelvis. You squeeze his bulge and he ruts into your palm, panting.

He licks his lips and you want to kiss him, but then he’s speaking, rolling his hips forward and grinding back against you at the same time. “G-Gamzee, fuck, tha-at’s good… Mmh…”

You love how he feels, all solidly up against you like he is and mewling while his red smears over your fingers and stains his boxers, probably. You lick the tip of his horn, nip the shell of his ear and then speak, your voice gentle. “Wanna help a brother take these off, Karbro? Got more’n just this I wanna do for ya.”

It takes him a second to catch on, and then he shuffles out of his pants, kicking them off haphazardly before turning to lay facing you. Your hand keeps working at his bulge, the other pulling him in closer to yourself. He’s nearly radiating heat, and each little moan he makes goes right to your bulge, which has decided to make itself known despite your best efforts to think it into submission. Oh well.

His arms go around your shoulders and he kisses you hard, pushing his tongue into your mouth and hitching one leg over your hip. You kiss him right back, squeeze his bulge, and move your hand lower, to the slightly dripping folds of his nook. He squeaks and his hips buck against you fingers, a gush of prematerial settling between his thighs. You slide the pads of your middle and ring finger over his slit, just barely applying pressure.

"Wait, stop, wait." He whimpers, and you yank your hand back like it’s been burned, eyes wide because oh god what if you hurt him? "Just, your claws?"

You let out a relieved sigh and kiss his nose, smiling. “Got it bro. Relax for me.”

It takes a few minutes of kissing him and petting his back and chest before he relaxes like he had been, but you don’t mind. He feels nice under your fingers, and the way he relaxes is so wonderful, it makes your pusher hurt. Honestly, you’re probably straddling the line between matesprit and moirail with him, with how you feel towards him, but that’s okay, you think. He doesn’t mind, so you don’t.

Once he’s relaxed again, all soft and warm and giving under your hands, you kiss him gently, then slowly, so so slowly, push your finger into his nook. Just the one, a millimeter at a time. You cut your claws off anyway, because you’d accidentally scratched yourself in the shower one too many times, but you can understand why he’d worry.

You only stop pushing when your finger is in him all the way, and the heat makes your bulge lash, but you’re not going to take him. He’s too small, too delicate. You’ve been having growth spurts recently, and Karkat’s been growing much slower, so although you know that lowbloods  _can_ take a highblood’s bulge (not that you’d ever tell him about those videos you watched), you’re not going to risk it. Besides, this is for him, you want him to enjoy it more than anything.

You move your finger in him, just curling it a little like a bulge would, and eventually push the second one in. He rocks against your hand slowly, smoothly, mewling. He’s so gorgeous, you tell him that, over and over, how absolutely stunning he is to you, and he flushes to the tips of his ears, his hips bucking faster. You starts thrusting them into him and he shakes, going still, before hissing.

"B-bucket, fuck, fuck, Gamzee." He whimpers, clinging to your shirt and shivering, his legs pushing together to where you have to use your other hand to hold them open.

You kiss his face, purr, and move your hand faster. “No can do Karkat, just let it happen. Just feel it, bro.” You mumble, kissing him again.

He keens and sprays you with candy red, and you keep your fingers moving in him, slowing as he comes down with softer moans and little chirps, until he’s done, and then you pull your hand away. He’s got this pretty little smile on his lips, the kind of smile you wish you could see on him more, and he meets your eyes as he lazily trails his hand down your front, the other tangling in the mess you call hair.

You gasp when he grips your bulge through your pants, and whatever weak protests to him dealing with you are drowned out by your moans. It only takes a moment or two, because he’s warm and you can look down and see him covered in his material and his nook is all flushed and hot and you want to bury your face in to make him scream as he comes dry and-

You whine as you come, indigo flooding your pants and endorphins flooding your pan.

He’s still smiling that sweet little smile, and when he kisses you it’s heaven, perfect heaven, the messiahs themselves couldn’t make this moment better.

Until, that is, you have to get up and take a shower. But until then, i’s perfect and you’re happy and your perfect moirail is purring like a motorboat beside you.

**Author's Note:**

> What do you call moirails who give each other handjobs? Jack-off diamonds!  
> if you enjoyed this, consider tipping me here: https://ko-fi.com/A781PZJ


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